


Constellations and Galaxies

by Lidsworth



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Feanor being a good dad, Gen, Self Esteem Issues, body image issues, caranthir is bullied for his looks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caranthir is constantly bullied for his “ugly” appearance. When he can take no more it, it’s up to Feanor to calm his most difficult son the best way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellations and Galaxies

**Author's Note:**

> Unpopular opinion: I’m not a fan of the whole “Caranthir is ugly” headcanon that goes around. I think his mother dealt with the same thing when she was younger, and I imagine it’s something he struggled with growing up, especially being a part of a family with Feanor as his father. Therefore, I’ve written this little father-son fic in order to cheer myself up =,)
> 
> Forgive my mistakes I’ve been sick all day. 
> 
> Check out my tumblr-> inkstranger.tumblr.com (i'm open for silm request too!).

Just as Feanor is preparing to turn the page of his novel, the door to the kitchen swings open, slamming into the wall beside it and causing Feanor to jolt in his seat. Like a tornado gathering its momentum, in comes Carnistir, head down, fist balled tightly, shoulders hunched and shaking worse than a wet cat.

His stiff body language and the tension he brings with him in the kitchen tells Feanor what he needs to know. His son is upset, again. Though accustomed to Carnistir’s outburst already, the older elf notices something quite odd about his son’s current behavior.

He hears the sniffling and the angry whimpers, sees a gleam of water on those spotted cheeks. The elder elf’s heart drops at the sight.

Carnistir is crying.

Feanor barely has a chance to grab him before he storms to his room, no doubt preparing to bury himself in ancient text of lordship and ruling over lands, thus isolating himself from the world and his family once again.

“Carnistir, slow down.” Feanor stands quickly from where sits, taking his son’s thin wrists in his hands and pulling him forward, or attempting to at least. Carnistir fights, tugs and shakes to get out of his father’s grip, refusing to meet Feanor’s gaze.

Feanor allows the tug –of-war to continue for a while, not wanting to intimidate his clearly upset son by seizing him. He would rather Caranthir wear himself out than to have to forcefully stop him. Though truth be told, Feanor hasn’t a clue how to approach the situation. What should have been a verbal confirmation has turned into an angry brawl. Caranthir has been angry before—yes, but never angry enough to attack his father.

“Carnistir! Stop it!” Feanor stiffened his grip on the boy’s wrist, only to have him struggle even harder. Feanor groaned, “Carnistir, sto—“  
  
He brings his gaze to his father, eyes red and wide with sorrow and furry. His brow is furrowed and his lips are trembling. Any composure that he had before he met Feanor’s eyes melts the second they look at one another.

“Why must I be so ugly? Why did I have to be born looking like mother when everyone else was born looking like you? Even Matimo, whose hair is red and wild, still bears your appearance. Everyone in this family does, except me! I’m so ugly.” He ends on a softer note as he looks away from his father, breaking into a soft sob.

Feanor’s heart melts. Prior to this breakdown, he and Nerdanel had always discussed ways to get their angry son to open up them, but he didn’t have this in mind, nor did he prefer it.

As his father releases his wrists, Caranthir furiously rubs his eyes, drying his tears the best he can—though he is somewhat unsuccessful. “I…people tell me I look funny—ugly  when I go out…so I try to stay inside,” he barely manages through the huge gulps, “But I really wanted to go out today. And it happened again-“   
Feanor pulls Caranthir into a tight hug. One and rubs soothing circles in his back while the other traces lines through his silky hair. He places soft kisses atop of his son’s head, whispering “It’s okay” and other words in an attempt to calm him.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, the cries die down, and Caranthir is nothing more than a tired sack of bones in his father’s embrace.

He returns to his seat when Caranthir’s cries turn to hiccups, and pulls the young elfing onto his lap.

“You’re not ugly, Morifinwe,”says Feanor finally, letting his chin rest atop of Caranthir’s head, “and neither is your mother, far from it actually.”

There’s a shuffle against Feanor’s chest and underneath his chin, and suddenly his son is looking at him wide eyed. The use of his father name stirs his insides curiously, though garners his undivided attention nonetheless.

“But then why do they make fun of me? Why do they poke the dots on my face and call me names?”

Feanor is silent for a while, and only looks intently at his son, thinking of the right words to say.  

“You are different,” Feanor admits sadly, “And people do not always know how to treat someone who is different.”   
Caranthir hears his father’s voice hitch slightly, as if he speaks from personal experience. Though the vulnerability is gone before Caranthir can ponder on it. However, he feels good knowing that his father struggles with being different just as he does.  

“Your mother and her relatives are the only elves to have walked these shores with hair set ablaze and freckles on their faces,” he speaks of their flaws like they are the wonders of the world, raising his head and looking towards the ceiling.

“When I first saw her, walking on the shores, I was _breath taken._ She was unlike anything I had ever seen before, with her hair like fire behind her and her face tan and full of…of dots-I called them then! And how wrong I was!” He can already sense the beginning of his father’s enthusiasm. It seems as if he has drifted deep into a dreamlike state as grown-up elves usually do, recalling a memory from long ago whose very presence still brings a smile to his face.

Caranthir wishes he could master such a technique just as his father has, but realizes he has no memories great enough to power such a happy trance. Though hearing his father babble on and on about how he and mother first met, the elfling realizes he can’t help but smile at the infectious atmosphere that Feanor has produced.

In fact Caranthir can no longer hear words as his father speaks.  He simply drowns in his happiness, letting himself get lost in his father’s warm voice.

“Galaxies!” his father speaks loudly, yanking the child out of his trance and nearly causing Caranthir to jump off of his lap in amazement, “Your face, Carnistir is an explosion of stars, an assortment of constellations! And your hair, so dark and black, is the night sky that contains them all!”

In the midst of Feanor’s joy, Caranthir is seized up in the air, being supported by his father’s hands underneath his arms, “One day I will make a jewel so beautiful that it reflects the beauty of the stars, that it captures the constellations on your face. Everyone will envy it Carnistir, everyone will envy your beauty!”

He calms now, lowering he and his son back into the chair, engulfing the small elf into a tight hug.

“So please, Carnistir, do not believe them when they tell you that you are ugly, and do not allow them to call you horrendous. You are beautiful,” Feanor places a kiss atop of the mass of dark hair, savoring the silky strands underneath his lips,”So do not weep, my son. Stand up for yourself, no matter what you must do. No one has the right to make you feel ugly. You are _my_ son, and they should do well to remember this.”

Caranthir responds with a makeshift embrace of his own, wrapping his small arms around his father’s large torso.

 _Constellations. Galaxies. Space…_ Caranthir repeats these words as a mantra. This is what he is. He’s not ugly—he’s beautiful. Someone as perfect as Prince Feanor—his own father—tells him this! He even wants to make a jewel to capture who he is!

So when he is confronted for his looks the following day, he punches the teeth out of his bullies and feels better than he ever has before.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope yall enjoyed it. Wonder if you caught the reference to the silm! Anyway, tell me what you think please!


End file.
